Having given his foe some "rightious data", tmjdot (or "dot" as his friends on the 'Net called him" eased back into his Relax-tron and pulled his data-visualizers off his head. He puffed on a 'rette and stared up at the cieling. Wasting these guys one at a time was easy enough, but the softies were everywhere. They covered everything and everyone and the virus was spreading.
The resignation that he couldn't do this alone slowly zipped its way through his meat-grid. He needed help. And fast.
His mind made up, dot flipped down his goggles, cracked his datagloved fingers, and jacked in. The polyphonic lightshow of a billion voices of data slipping into his crib illuminated his face. He put out the 'rette and headed off for info-environs unknown in search of free-lance data mercenaries like himself willing to wield a weapon against the softie menance. Somewhere out there the binary existed to kill the menace, to get things back to normal. It was just a matter of getting the right programmertavists to riot with it, and getting it in time.
It was going to be a long night.